A Pinch of Poison
by SleepingDarkness
Summary: Killing and betraying, she can handle. Doing the dirty work for a psychopath, she can cope with. Surviving the company of Count Cain? She hasn't a hope in hell.
1. Phase 1: Initiated

A Pinch of Poison

_Authors Note:_ I got tired of the original plan, so though I am still using my character, Vampire Knight will be no way involved (I have however made a reference to VK; see if you can spot it ;)). Thus resulting in her not being a vampire. And not from the future. The general plot will remain the same however. I will try to change as little of the text as possible.  
I do not own Godchild.

The terribly humid scent of many perfumes as well as the sweat from at least one hundred bodies lingered in my nostrils before warming my throat and lungs. Though fresh air from the balconies was temptingly close, there was no breeze to bring it further into the tepid hall. I would elbow my way through the swarms in my desperation to reach chilly relief, but any kind of mistake in my behaviour would get someone killed. So coping was at the top of my priorities.

_I should have brought a fan… _I gazed on enviously as some girls remained cool by frantically flapping their frilly fans.

The gnawing hunger wasn't doing my wavering decorum any favours either. But a lady eating was considered most barbaric so that was an everyday luxury scrubbed from my list of things to do at this dreadful and badly lit ball. If a lady was to in any way expand her stomach volume, her corsets may possibly explode. And the noticeable lack of lighting was probably to try and stop anyone from recognizing who was committing a scandal with whom, thus keeping snippy gossip to a minimum.  
I knew that I should be out in the crowds of mindless sheep, mingling with all the attendants, like my 'employer' had instructed me, but I still couldn't quite get my head around how I had ended up here in the first place.

Of course I could comprehend my reasons for complying with that charlatan's wishes; everyone I knew had some kind of black mark against them, but only severe bribes to The Bloody Rose Association, the corporation that dealt in white magic, to counteract the sinister workings of Delilah, saved them from slaughter. However virtuous this organisation may sound, it rather sadly is run by an undeniably psychotic man, who was not above resorting to terrible deeds to help the progress of the Bloody Rose. The man in question had demanded that I infiltrate Delilah through their primary link, Count Cain. My refusal was at first utterly stead-fast, but then he alerted me to the fact that he had death warrants prepared for each person who was in any associated with me. One death per refusal.

I relented when faced with this threat, thus throwing me into the centre of their little project. I was only the most important person involved in this because I was the field agent. The _only _field agent. I was the only field agent, expendable slave labour they could obtain.

With a shaky (and instantly regretted) inhalation of the noxious fumes that riddled the air, I left my isolated corner and inched through the clusters of people to try and get this job over and done with.


	2. Phase 2: Target

_Authors Note_: Like the first chapter, I redid it. Most of it has remained the same, though whether that is a good thing or a bad thing is a matter of opinion on the story itself.  
I do not own Godchild

Penetrating the close knit social circles of fashionable society was amusingly easy. Batting an eyelid at a desperate bachelor, beaming warmly at a silly young lady and suddenly everyone was making attempts to get my attention. After assessing what to do next, I reviewed the people around me, and who would be the most suitable conversationalists. I shunned any little pairs, people in outdated or unfashionable clothes or anyone who seemed a little _too _desperate for me to come over, until I settled on a self-satisfied collection of three or four elegantly (if somewhat scantily) dressed young women. They were examining me with a hint of curiosity. Having enough pluck to get this far, I was shocked by the ache in my ribs from a heart pounding too fast and too hard, and the loudness of my now shoddy looking boots on the iridescent floor as I approached the doll like ladies. I was reminded of all my attempts to fit in with people at home, how at this point I would become very interested in the floor pattern that passed under me with each step.

Brushing off my uncomfortable memories, I strode with as much confident towards them, spurring myself on with the terrible images of the bodies that would pile up with every mistake I made. _Try and prevent any inevitable slip ups_, I used that phrase when I was first pressured into this job _I won't be a killer yet_.

One of the more amiable girls waved, dispelling any thoughts I had of skittering away. I noticed that though she stood with the group, she was on the outskirts of it, and was paying attention to conversations other than the rather heated one that was currently taking place. I guessed that she probably had noble blood in her, but did not let it get to her head, like it did with the vain creatures around her.

She was also the most attractive of the bunch-a rose among daisies. I've always thought there is no way to define beauty, so trying to describe her appearance would be pointless. But she seemed almost surreal. I wondered how I looked to them; I've been told that I emanate an ethereal aura that is irresistible to most anyone who looks in my direction. A trait from my mother, I believe.  
I plastered my most appealing smile onto my lips as I took the last final steps towards her.

"Good evening, I don't believe I've seen you before." Her voice rang in my ears, like the soft echo of a wind chime.

"You wouldn't have," I mentally arranged all my sentences in a polite fashion to avoid anything blunt, as I usually spoke my mind to people. Rather barbaric, in most peoples eyes. "I moved to London quite recently."

"Oh?" the other girls had stopped what they were doing and were listening intently.

"Where have you come from?"

"The Isle of Wight." That happened to be true. While the head of the Bloody Rose had told me to lie as mush as possible, I couldn't see any reason to conceal trivial facts. "I felt like a change. The mainland seemed a good candidate and the hectic capital no less!" I chuckled in as ladylike a fashion one can chuckle.

"What's your name?" an eavesdropping girl in an unfortunate yellow dress cut in.

"Catherine Strange," I gave _that _one my most spine-chilling smiles. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance." I dragged my eyes over the assembly, addressing all of them with my comment.

"I am Angela Hedgeworth." The girl I had originally been talking to decided to pipe up. "Likewise." She curtsied. _Curtsied? They think I'm a noble?_I didn't know I gave off that strong a superior air. I did have _some_ noble blood in me, but not enough to make others obligated to curtsy.

"Where are you staying? Do you have any relatives?" yet another gossiper spoke up.

"I'm sure I'd have noticed any one else like you who was here." I wasn't sure whether to accept that as a compliment or an insult.

"Accommodation is the only current flaw in my relocation plans," I admitted "and no, I don't have any relatives."

"Why on earth not?" Angela sounded deeply concerned by this fact.

"My parents passed away a little while ago." I replied. A truth I immediately regretted disclosing.

"Oh how sad!" Angela cried, her mouth forming a perfect o. "You have no one to care for you at all!" She cooed.

"Pardon my intrusion," the girl in the yellow dress seemed fixated on something over my shoulder "but Count Cain is staring at you." This seemed to send them all into frenzy. This was the reaction I had been hoping for. I was flooded by relief that I would not have to try and grasp his attention through upfront communication.

"Count Cain?" I enquired, thinking it would be too far to raise an eyebrow.

"Only the wealthiest, handsomest and most desirable bachelor in all London, if not the whole country!" one of the young ladies gushed.

I threw a glance over my shoulder for effect, and nearly did a double take myself. He was indeed handsome, especially when dressed in head to toe in my favourite colour, black.

The women had turned inwards, blabbering about all the things they'd heard about him. I enclosed myself within their circle, sneakily listening in to see if they disclosed anything useful. Mostly it was rumours, which were probably about as true as the tooth fairy. The words death, poison and curse were spoken most in the cacophony of conversation, I noted.  
In the entire buzz of such a trivial matter, I didn't hear the crack of a cane on the glimmering floor or the masculine footfall until it was right behind me. Without turning I knew who it would be. _Now the mission _really _begins…_

I slowly moved 180 degrees to face him, wishing that the silence the gossip girls behind me suddenly found themselves stunned to was present at times like when Cain approached me.  
We regarded each other for an awkward moment, holding each others gaze. I had barely been able to get a good grip on his golden-eyed stare before he had moved onto the formalities.

"Hello," his tone was stuck on the borders between indifferent and questioning. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Cain Hargreaves. But you can call me Cain." He bowed low enough that he was nearly a 90 degree angle and took my hand, planting a kiss on it. He let his lips linger for a second too long before I gently pulled my hand out of his grasp.

"That's a rather strange choice of biblical name." I remarked. His only response was to look into my eyes again.

"You don't get to question my name unless I get to question yours." He said eventually.

"Catherine Strange." I tried to keep my voice from reverting to a dry monotone.

"One might say that was a strange name." he smirked to add to his 'wit'.

"Many people have used that joke before." I was halfway through an eye roll before I remembered my manners.

"Temptation is the scourge of man." His dwindling smile widened. I didn't bother to reply.

"I assume I'll be seeing you at one of these frivolous events again soon." He turned to leave, and it dawned on me that this was my best chance at capturing him. Metaphorically.

Rather surprisingly (as well as helpfully) he stopped and spun back round to speak again.

"Unless you'd like to see me again before that… where have you moved to?"

"I-"

"She doesn't have anywhere to go, Mr. Cain." Angela, whose existence had completely and temporarily slipped my mind, squeaked.

"I see." His voice seemed to lose some of its shine when he spoke to her. "Why don't you stay in my mansion?" his voice regained the charm that he had not seen fit to use with Angela. Though I did not know her that well, I felt a blunt blow of annoyance at him treating her in a way that was less than equal.

"I-"I was interrupted again. For nobles, they seemed to have very little manners.

"Excellent. I'll have my man servant collect you after the party Catherine. Don't worry about imposing, there's plenty of room in the mansion for all of us. Why, you could stay there and we might not even find you." This time when he turned, he did not return for further conversation.  
As he departed I realized two things; I'd had an even shorter conversation with him than I'd had with Angela, and I was staying with him, at his mansion.

Also, I had never mentioned I'd moved… 'Where have you moved to?' How did he know I had nowhere to live?


	3. Phase 3: Permeation

_Authors Note: _I will most likely add new chapters (or at least begin writing new ones) every Friday, Saturday and Tuesday.  
P.S. Sorry I've taken so long; slight case of writers block, and homework overload.  
I do not own Godchild.

I spent the remainder of the party with Angela and her friends, Marianne and Karen. I no longer needed a source of information of Count Cain, so the torturous experience of socializing was no longer required. I found it hard to decide if the party went by swiftly or agonizing slowly. The general feeling of anxiety that had taken on the form of persistent butterflies in my abdomen made the time it took until the celebration was over fly straight past me in a flash, but it still felt like the hours had stretched into years.

My anticipation had my nerves stretched so much they nearly shattered completely when I heard someone behind me say my name. Upon turning, I identified the man as Cain's man servant. He was dressed in the traditional manner of a servant though I was shocked at how young he was. He could not have been very much older than Cain himself.

"Master Cain has requested that I bring you to his carriage, miss." He gestured for me to follow him.

"I'll see you another time." I paused to give a quick parting word to Angela; in a voice so choked I barely recognized it as my own. Marianne and Karen were bickering yet again, on a topic so drab I did not have the inclination to waste a few seconds to discover what it was.

"Good luck." She gave me a reassuring smile. Unfortunately her words only proved to me how important this was and the kind of repercussions it could cause. I could not even register the sound of my pristine boots on the immaculate floor, or notice the change in sound as I left the hall and my skirts swished merely inches above the path. It was only when the carriage came into my line of sight that I snapped out of my reverie. I also snapped out of my panic, thankfully. I hated to think of the effect getting into the carriage while I was a gibbering wreck.

His servant opened the door for me and through the ominous darkness inside the depths of the carriage Cain's pale face, crowned by his raven strands of hair, swam out to greet me, still with a miniscule smirk on his face. He stretched out one of his skin and bones arms to assist me with getting into the carriage. I was rather grateful as I had never gained the skill to clamber in and out of these damned things with style of any kind. I settled myself onto the plush bench and examined the mounted candles tat had been lit, but gave off so little light I had not been aware of their existence until I was inside the carriage.

I relaxed back into the seat, successfully flushing some of the tension from my system. But I felt some of it return to me when I noticed that Cain had inched closer to me when I was not paying attention, so there was barely two inches between us. I was still in a childish, indignant sulk about his attitude to Angela, and was about to demand my personal space; so I was somewhat surprised when his man servant joined us in the carriage, closing the door with a click that echoed in the silence. I had never been one for dividing servants from the rest of society, so I flashed him a warm smile, which he returned. I had however expected that Cain would make him sit with the driver rather than have him sit with us in the warmth. I wondered if Cain only had disdain for his fanatics. I glanced over at his serene face, taking in the expression on his face as he stared at me with a peculiar amount of vigour.

"Miss," his servant (I noted to myself to discover his name) queried "do not take my question with offence, but what is it that brings you to staying at the Earls house after such a rushed meeting?"

"That is a question that would be better directed at your master," my lips twitched with the ghost of a smile, "as I have no logical reasoning as to his motives for allowing me to stay at his household."

"It was an act of generosity, Riff," he replied, ripping his green-gold eyes from me to look at him "Merryweather implored that I made myself better known for my good deeds rather than the dreadful rumours that cloud me."

"How is your little sister?" I had heard her mentioned several times by Angela.

"You know of her?" Cain turned back to me.

"She has been commented on for her attractiveness and intelligence…" I winced, almost not wanting to share the next part "…among other things…"

"If what you've heard is that Merry is illegitimate, than it is true." His voice had a bitter edge to it now, and he cast his eyes downward.

"Despite what the prudes of the more fashionable circles might think, I never believed that illegitimate were born in sin because of their parents mistakes," I thought maybe sharing my true opinion could be a bad idea, but if I didn't tell them what I actually thought on the matter, it would vex me for the rest of the day.

"If she's as sweet as everyone says she is, she can only be tainted by her own vices."

I couldn't tell anything from their facial expressions as to how they felt about my opinion, but I brushed it off. My opinion, even if it only mattered to me, was still perfectly valid.

"I'm sure Merry will be glad to make your acquaintance…" Riff said slowly, his eyes fixed on his master, studying his indifferent demeanour. "It is rare to meet someone as open-minded as you."

I was surprised that they had_ ever _met anyone as open minded as me. On several occasions, I'm certain I've been mistaken for a lady of low class on account of my casual manner towards the rules of etiquette. The more people pressured me to follow their formal yet undocumented little collection rules and regulation, the more determined I became to behave in a way that seemed 'vulgar', to say the least.

"You're rather outspoken…" Riff mused "for such a young lady. How old are you exactly, Miss…?" he reluctantly peeled his eyes from Cain.

"Strange. Catherine Strange," I beamed at him, showing all my perfectly rounded teeth "and I turned seventeen two months ago, sir."

Cain snapped out of his reverie at my last word. _How strange it must sound, addressing a servant in this manner, after I had not bothered to do the same to him_. I reminded myself that this may seem strange to the majority of high status gentlemen and gentleladies, but this Earl, the head of the most gossiped about family in London, and he let his servant ride in the carriage, a part of a conversation between two nobles.

Perhaps his attitude to propriety mirrored my own. I smiled openly at this thought.

"You're my age then, charming Miss Catherine." Cain finally managed to form syllables after his lengthy detachment from the discussion, taking some of the edge off his enticing words.

"Really?" I cocked my head at him. A masculine manoeuvre. "You look younger than that." Though I was mildly annoyed by his last comment, and my latest sentence directed at him was intended to wound, he laughed at it. _Typical that he would be so easy-going_ I could hear the growl of my thoughts reverberating in the corners of my brain.

"You barely look seventeen, as well, sweet Cathy," He added. "But neither does Riff."

"Youth is overrated." These words were not my own. I remembered that the moment the last syllable rolled off my tongue. I skimmed over my memories to see who had uttered these cynical words. I recalled them as being the words of my 'employer'; the only name he had given me to call him by was Freak.

I shivered when his face flooded my vision, fixing me with a white-eyed stare.

"Don't worry, Miss Catherine," Riff's voice was surprisingly clear despite my morbid distraction. "We will be arriving at the mansion soon. I would imagine all the fires have been lit, so you will be in the warmth presently." On regaining my sight, I looked into his blank face. I could tell from his eyes, that he knew there was more behind my shaking than the numbing cold of winter.

"The weather has become quite awful during the last week," Cain examined the veins of frost that ran past him on the window, whispering absentmindedly "Don't worry Cathy, I will keep you warm." His speech became near in audible, but the deathly silence meant that Riff and I both heard it as clearly as if he had shouted it.

Thankfully, my blood had better things to do than fill my cheeks.

"Miss Catherine we are here." Riff leaned across to Cain's side of the carriage and looked at something beyond my view. I moved closer to Cain to look out of the window. The mansion was very hard to miss. Lit up like a dozen candles, every window glowed like a sunset. However charming this looked, it made it impossible to distinguish any features of the mansion.

Before resuming my position, I glanced into the passive face of Cain. His eyes had managed to keep themselves from the gravitational force of the luminous building to attempt to catch my attention. Now he had it though, he opened his mouth a fraction but promptly closed it. He maintained eye contact for a few seconds more before smiling sheepishly. I scooted back down the seat, nearly flattening myself against the door in order to keep my distance. It was all I could do to stop myself toppling out when the coach stopped, and Cain reached across me to open the door.

The crunch of our feet on the frosted grass almost made me think that it had snowed during our short trip. But the ground was not pure white, not the flawless parchment that scrolled over the earth after snowfall. It was a muted, dull green, glinting like stars.

Riff's footsteps weren't noticeable on the grass. I only realized he had vacated the carriage when he walked past me, starting towards the path leading to the grand entrance. Cain's footfalls were indistinct also, but I rather expected that of him. His presence beside me did not surprise me, but neither did the rake-like arm he offered me. I took it without hesitation, grateful for the support against the slick pasture. The sparse muscles in his arm tightened as we approached the mansion, until I could feel how they strained over his bones.

I squeezed his upper arm gently, hoping to ease his discomfort. He peered at my slim fingers, before glancing at my face. It was mere moments before he adopted his openly fascinated stare.

"Don't be so nervous." I murmured, leaning closer so my hushed words could be heard over the winter wind. His smirk returned, along with the welcome glint in his eye.

"How can I not be, when such a stunning lady has her hand wrapped around my limb?" he teased.

Not bothering to continue with the banter, I let him tow me along to his dazzling mansion, forgetting about what I was here for.


	4. Phase 4: Associates

_Authors Note: _I apologise for leaving so many gaps between updates. It gets very annoying waiting around for new chapters and such, but Fridays and Saturdays are my best writing opportunities. And it takes me about three or four hours just to write one damn chapter.  
Not only does Merryweather make her first appearance in this chapter, but I also decided to throw Oscar in this one too. Poor him, all his efforts to impress Merry always fail. Though I guess he is ten years older than her… There will also be more of Merryweather in the next chapter, since I rushed this one a bit.  
Also forgive any lack of what little quality this chapter possessed near the end, as I was feeling pretty much the way Cathy felt while I was writing it.  
I do not own Godhild.

Riff had remained only a few steps ahead of us on the trip from the carriage to the luxurious mansion, and I could tell from the expression I barely managed to glimpse upon his face that he had heard every word. And our repartee did not seem to have pleased him. I thought momentarily on what about our jousting could have upset him. _Allowing a servant to include himself in the conversing of two nobles was a shocking act_, I deliberated, _they must be close_. I risked another fleeting look at his mournful face _Very close…_

_He must care for his master very much. Maybe he senses the dangers I harbour… _My heart leapt into my throat from involuntary fright at that last thought. He couldn't possibly know something as private as that. Besides, in the eyes of most people, I was just beautiful, delicate, alluring Catherine-Emma Strange, who wouldn't dream of doing anything sinful. I suppose it was so easy to act as the better side of Cathy, because I was her once.

I had stopped thinking of myself as Catherine, the girl who had been born in Shanklin, an amiable and honest young lady. But I still couldn't determine whether I started being different when my parents died, or when I accepted my so-called job.

Abandoning my jumbled cacophony of thoughts, I took a proper look at the inside of the glimmering mansion. To my disappointment, despite being vast, the inside was typical of an entrance hall. Large windows, a rather random assortment of immense mirrors set into the walls, old oil paintings and the traditional extensive staircase. _But maybe_, I thought, dragging my eyes over the enigmatic Earl on my arm and Riff (who was now watching me rather conspicuously over his shoulder), _the residents are strange enough to balance it out_.

"Merryweather should be in her room by now." Riff stated, still refusing to close the distance between us.

"If that's where she should be, she will most certainly not be there." Cain's laughed echoed in the desolate corridors. Why did he need a mansion so large, if only he, Riff, his sister (and now myself) lived here?

"She'll probably be in one of your countless drawing rooms." Riff suggested. He finally relented in giving me the cold shoulder, and slowed his pace, until he was standing at my other side. He extended his arm, but it was purely from politeness. I felt the sudden urge to dispel any doubts or worries he had about me, and prove that I could be a pleasant person, that though I found myself blackmailed into doing terrible things to people I didn't know very well, I wasn't as foul as he seemed to think I was.

I took his arm, applying a small amount of pressure with my fingertips to gain his full attention. He gazed into my face nervously. He looked scared half to death at just having to hold my stare, so I gave him a smile so warm, it could have set him on fire. Of course, a smile could only do so much. Though he relaxed a little and returned the smile, he did not seem fully comfortable in my presence. At that moment, I became determined to gain even a speck of his trust.

"She might be in the West Drawing Room," Cain had spent the sizable space of time that Riff and I had been exchanging facial pleasantries contemplating the whereabouts of his sister further "though the sun set sometime ago, she may still be able to see some traces of sunset from here." He concluded.

"And if she's not?" I enquired.

"Then we may not see her until morning." Cain smirked. He was obviously proud at the excessive size of his mansion.

"If we're lucky." Riff allowed me another smile, a little more cordial than the previous one. _He was somewhat more social in the carriage. I wonder if he's uncomfortable with having me near the mansion… Or maybe he was just better at hiding it earlier. _

The one instance where you should not keep your enemies closer than your friends. My mouth felt dry. I thoroughly disliked calling myself their enemy.

We approached an ajar door, from which two voices were drifting out. I placed one as the voice of a very young girl, who I assumed to be Merryweather; but the extra voice was unexpected, making me unable to place it.

"You're in a better mood than usual!" the foreign voice exclaimed.

"Today has been better than usual." The other voice retorted.

Riff untangled his arm from mine, turning the decorative doorknob to reveal the identities of the voices.

Accounts of Merryweather's beauty had not been exaggerated. She gave the impression of a flawless porcelain doll. She was perched on the edge of a mountainous padded chair (everything seemed to have to be huge here), probably to avoid any dress disasters.

Stretched out across the adjacent (and ridiculously gigantic) sofa was a young man who was a few years older than Cain and Riff. I contemplated on why a man who was not on my checklist of the Hargreaves Manor residents was sprawled over the furniture as if he lived here.

"What are you doing here, Oscar?" Cain stomped forward to scowl down at him, dragging me along with him.

"Just paying my fiancée a visit," he shrugged. After he noticed that Cain had me hanging off his arm, he grinned mischievously, before giving Cain an insultingly suggestive look "who's she?"

"Our newest guest." Riff chipped in, even though he was still hovering near the door.

"I didn't know you took _that _kind of girl off the streets, Count." Oscar chuckled. I had barely known him five minutes and already he had managed to make me loathe him.

"If you are suggesting that I am a lady of 'questionable occupation'," I snarled "I may suggest that you are a mindless, charmless, cad and," I leaned over him to give him me own seething glare "if those are the only words you will speak of me with, you may not keep the tongue you use to say them."

Much to my frustration, he laughed. Of course, such a scornful moody threat coming from a weak young lady could be disregarded with a laugh.

"She sure has a temper," he turned to face Merryweather, his face lighting up "like your sister…"

"Why have you brought a stranger here big brother?" Her voice was so delicate and airy it reminded me of Angela's soft tone.

Though her question was directed at Cain, she was staring fixedly at me. She had a curious expression on her face that only young children possess. I flashed the warm smile I seemed to be hurling left right and centre at people at the moment. I suppose I was just desperate to appear approachable.

"You told me to be more charitable," Cain answered "I'm just giving her a roof over her head."

"What?" Oscar spoke again. I frowned, curious as to what candid comment he would make now "was she disinherited like me?"

"She just moved to London and she has no family and friends," Cain replied flatly "besides, she is not a disgrace like you. Her family would have to be crazed to reject someone like her." Now that I had warmed, my blood no longer needed to pump round my body to keep me warm. My cheeks began to burn with the sudden rush of fluid.

"Why did you move to London, Catherine?" Riff took it upon himself to remove me from a moment of light humiliation. Though Oscar moved into an upright position, freeing up some sitting room on the sofa to allow Riff, Cain and I to sit, Cain made no move to join Riff and Oscar on the sofa. I decided I had been wrapped around his arm long enough, so I (after a few violent yanks) extricated my limb from his and sank into the space next to Riff. Despite his brief qualms about me earlier, he appeared to have accepted me and was no longer giving me a deeply suspicious look.

"I moved here because my hometown held no interest anymore," I angled myself so I was obviously addressing Riff "and London seemed the best place if I was looking for somewhere interesting."

But though I had the impression that such a discussion would last a while longer, Cain grabbed Oscar by the wrist and dragged him up from his comfortable position. Though Oscar glared at him indignantly, he made no other complaint.

"I'm afraid it's past Merryweather's bedtime," he said snippily "so the detailed introductions will have to wait until morning." Shooting another glower in Oscars direction, he added "Riff, please escort Oscar off of the premises. I say escort, but please feel free to manhandle him," he turned back to me, all resentment leaving his eyes "I will show Cathy to her room."

Merryweather looked decidedly sulky as she crawled off the luxurious armchair and trudged past us to the door. Though she was obviously vexed at having to leave, she paused at the doorway, forcing a smile on her delightful face, "Good night everyone. And, pleasure to meet you, Miss Cathy." She was through the door before I could even return the remark.

It was amusing watching Oscar vacate the room, as he moved in the exact same depressed and down-hearted way that Merryweather had, only he did not even have the courtesy to stop and say farewell. Riff followed, only a few weary steps behind him. He probably knew that Oscar would pester him, trying to convince him to make himself seem a suitable partner for Merryweather.

Cain offered me his arm yet again, even though I had only just managed free myself from it. He didn't seem to like the idea of me walking around without being in someway attached to him. I hadn't the effort or inclination to refuse him, so I wound my arm around his. This time, he reached over with his free hand and encased mine with it. Even in his own home, he seemed to over step the general bounds of civility.

As it turns out, I was yet again thankful for his support as I found myself being overwhelmed by a fatigue I did not know could come of such a relaxed day.

_Maybe it's the mental and emotional energy I've used that's causing this…_

"It is just as well I broke off that conversation when I did," Cain was examining me with mildly concerned eyes "you look exhausted, and that exchange could have taken all night if we had got into detail."

"Detail?" I asked. I hadn't enough vigour to be any less monosyllabic than that.

"About you and your past," he answered, keeping his patience despite how obvious the answer to my question had been. "I don't know how long you will be staying here, and I suppose we were just curious." He kept switching pronouns at regular intervals. Maybe he was switching them in places where he thought it would be inappropriate to say 'I'.

We continued down the never-ending identical corridors in silence. The majority of the candles were beginning to run out of wax, but I noticed that Cain's eyes reflected the low light, making the gold flecks in them more apparent. Before my shattered brain could comprehend what was happening, the words were spilling messily out of my mouth. His dwindling smile expanded dramatically upon hearing my clumsy words, but he only saw fit to ease my embarrassed anxiety a minute or so later, when we stopped outside the door to what I assumed was my room. He released both my arms, and turned to face me. I stood there dumbly for a few seconds while he stared at me with a slightly euphoric expression. I began to feel all the more stunned to silence when he finally broke the silence;

"A benevolent, beautiful soul such as yourself is always compassionate, yet I find it surprising that you can say something as sweet that to a disgusting sinner like me." He brushed the lengthy strands of dark brown hair out of my face, so he could shape his hand around my cheek. I could tell he wanted me to reply to his remark, but in a single second, all traces of speech had vacated my throat. My brain was contemplating the two plausible solutions to this situation it could think of.

If I stayed utterly still, he might lose interest in me and go to his chamber, or he might take offence from my silence.

"Why do I always receive that reaction from women?" he chortled.

"I was simply startled that you would consider my blurted twaddle so deeply." I was also startled that I had managed to state such a respectable answer under such stress.

"I doubt anything that came out of your mouth would be anything less than visionary." He responded.

Rather suddenly I was overwhelmed with a feeling not totally dissimilar to anger. He was showering me with constant praise, for no reason. I could only think of one reason for that, and it was not pleasant.

My tongue did not have the time to spit out any further syllables, as Cain approached the door we stood by and twisted the handle. A spotless bedroom, so clean that I was certain it was probably one of a dozen spare rooms, lay behind it. Half of the candles had already been lit.

"My room is just down the hall," he began to take a few steps back the way we had come "if you need anything to hesitate to ask me or Riff."

"You must have so many unoccupied rooms," my mouth remained out of control, much to my dismay "why live in such a vast estate with so few people?" He turned on his heel back to me.

"I inherited this place, so I might as well stay here." His reply was less detailed than I expected it to be. But my exhaustion mounted with every moment I spent upright, so all I did was nod and mutter goodnight.

"Sleep well, cute Cathy." He strode down the corridor but he had barely taken ten steps before he had reached his own room. I entered the immaculate room and locked the door

My brain had become so muted by tiredness that I was almost tempted to sleep in my clothes, but that would just make me feel uncomfortable the next morning. I went to the trouble of removing my numerous numbers of petticoats and rifled through the drawers for some suitable night attire. My stomach contracted upon opening the top one, as all of my clothes had been folded, arranged by colour and stored. The only way they could have reached this place was if someone had taken them from the hotel where I had left them, brought them here and unpacked them.

I concluded that Cain would have overheard that a new face (me) had appeared in one of the more fashionable areas of London, received the information of my location from any gossiper who had been on the line of people that had acquired the information from my confidantes, Angela, Marianne and Karen. It would have taken great speed for Riff to reach the hotel and recover my luggage, bring it to the manor, then return to the ball to collect me. I had never seen Cain leave the ball, so I assumed he would ask Riff to run the errand.

What could possibly have made Cain so desperate for me to stay here? To go to such efforts because his sister insisted he be sociable was a little unbelievable at best.

My head began to throb as I tried to decipher Cain's motives. I decided I should leave my intense contemplation for the morning, along with formally introducing myself to Merryweather. I almost dreaded tomorrow, as it would require more energy than I had spent today.

I blew out all the candles that were still flickering, practically crawled into the comfort of a warm bed, and was unconscious in moments.


	5. Phase 5: Agreement

_Authors Note: _I started this fifth chapter the about sixteen or so hours after I finished the last one, since I had multiple reviews in one night. I never expected to receive a single, half-decent review, so upon learning that people took the time to read the latest chapter and submit praising reviews, I had to get started on chapter five. It has however, taken _a lot_ longer than I intended to complete. Damn writers block. I also know it's awful, but I'm not forcing you to read it.  
I do not own Godchild.

My retinas ignited when I heard the swish of curtains opening, and sunlight inhabited the room. _Strange, _my groggy brain managed to murmur out its first thought of the day _I never heard anyone come in._

I squinted, in a poor attempt to become accustomed to the golden beams that speared me where I lay. My vision cleared after a few agonizing moments of blindness, allowing me to distinguish colours and shapes. The most striking thing I saw was a darkly dressed figure, framed by the curtains as well as the thick streams of light, like an actor on a stage, preparing to address his audience. I recognized the silhouette as Riff, his completely passive eyes surveying me as I struggled onto my elbows.

"Good morning, Miss Catherine." His statement had more feeling in it than his expression.

"Just call me Cathy." I muttered. Exchanging pleasantries first thing in the morning was not my strong point.

I combed my fingers through my shambolic hair, trying to free myself from its tangled clutches. I peered at the ornamental clock that was beside the bed. It took me several moments to decipher which swirled numbers the hands were pointed at, becoming a little discomfited by the indecent hour at which I had finally awoken. It was nearly 11 am. I had slept through nearly half the day, and much to my aggravation, no one had thought to wake me until now.

"Did I miss breakfast?" I queried, wondering how long I would have to wait until I had something to eat.

"You did," he confirmed "but brunch is about to be served, so you won't have to wait until lunch for your first meal." I wriggled out of the thick folds of sheets on the bed, which caused him to rush to the drawers parallel to the bed, and start rummaging through my ludicrous number of dresses.

"We came in to wake you up at 8 am," he continued; he had perceived my indignant exasperation. "But Cain concluded that you were sleeping so peacefully, that it would be cruel to wake you."

I sighed, wishing Cain would think using his brain for once. If he hadn't decided to wake me now, I could have slept for the entire day.

Riff extracted a lavender morning dress from the painstakingly organised drawers, then laying it flat on the foot of my unkempt bed. He had started to look in another drawer in search of my undergarments, when I decided to step in.

"Riff, I'm capable of dressing myself." All servants to nobles had this intention. Nobles were supposedly too regal to even clothe and feed themselves. "What's more, you probably shouldn't leave Cain alone too long. He'll manage to get himself stuck in some kind of trouble without you."

At the mention of his master in danger, Riff didn't even attempt to resist.

"You're probably right." He concurred, nearly running to the door. "He's a danger magnet." I could still hear his hurried steps even after he had left.

I had seemingly underestimated Riffs loyalty to the Earl. _They express nothing but an unwavering compassion for one another._

I examined the lilac dress that Riff had chosen. Since I hadn't the time to agonize over which dress to wear, I decided that this would be acceptable.

I turned my attention to the floor, where I still expected my abandoned petticoats to be. But upon further inspection, I noticed that they had been stored in a drawer, arranged in the exact fashion that the rest of my attire had been assembled.

Typical, that Cain and Riff would have to organize my room while I was sleeping. _Because expecting privacy would obviously be too much to ask. _I daren't voice my complaint in case Riff was still in ear shot. After all, although I would enjoy the certainty that my chamber was completely impregnable, he had taken the time and effort to do the maids work, since I had neglected to keep my room off the borders of unsightly.

_But how could he possibly be in ear shot? He left in quite a hurry. _I considered my reasons for withholding my private comment. Frustratingly, I came up empty.

My momentary lack of brain activity brought today's 'to do' list come crashing back. With a shudder and an inaudible groan, I began to climb into my various layers, praying that theviolet dress I was currently readying myself to slip into was one of my less frivolous outfits.

For reasons that I wasn't courageous enough to ask about, brunch took place in the garden I wasn't certain where, as there were acres upon acres of 'garden'. I considered the possibility of missing brunch, as I did not want to be misplaced in the organic oblivion, but it seemed that Cain had been aware that this might be an issue, and had requested one of his many faceless servants to escort me to their… I struggled to find words to describe such a gathering in the outdoors.

Much to my surprise, we arrived at their temporary table in less than a minute, when I had been expecting a lengthy hike across the estate, doubtless with a guided tour from the servant, as written by Cain.

It was an almost comical sight, seeing them seated round a table, with multiple cutlery sets (each for its own unique and trivial purpose) and varnished silverware as if they were dining in their ostentatious hall, while the crisp, pure white tablecloth was contracting impressive numbers of grass stains, the soil crunched under their feet.

I felt no shock when I spotted Riff seated by his master, taking his own portion of the ornately arranged food. Though they were consuming some of the victuals, most of it seemed to be being somewhat delicately gobbled by Merryweather. She was spreading three different kinds of jam over a single croissant, ignoring the eager attention she was attracting from honeybees within a mile.

The servant who had led me here was satisfied that they had brought me far enough, and returned back the way we had come, probably to perform many mindless tasks all through the day as part of her 'job'. I swallowed my ridiculously irrational fear, and approached the table with confidence in my step. Sadly, my feet were hidden beneath my dress, so however confident they looked when walking, I'm sure my face gave me away.

Cain and Riff watched my advance with the same calculated expression altering their features until there was virtually no difference between them. Merry eventually pulled herself away from the fascinations of jam long enough to see who had arrived. She smiled upon seeing me, waving with an undertone of enthusiasm.

"Miss Cathy!" She exclaimed in a mildly jovial voice "I'm sorry we let you sleep so long," she purred, leaping to her feet and drawing out the only empty chair. "But big brother insisted we let you rest." I had never thought I would be able to find young children so lovable, though I suppose everyone felt that way about Merry, with her angelic appearance and the charms only an innocent young child possesses.

"I doubted that your brother would offer an apology," I gazed down at her delicate form. "Thank you."

Her smile widened, showing her rounded little milk drops of teeth. I resisted the urge to put my fingertip on one of them, a desire that faded when she began transferring any food within her reach from the rickety mountain in the middle to my plate.

"My brother's told me a lot about you." She chirped, as I stopped her from adding another fruit to the jumbled array of entrées that were mounting the reflective surface of my silver dish.

"I've told her as much as I know, which isn't much." Cain interjected. A dreadfully conspicuous attempt to get me to shed light on myself, something I was deeply uncomfortable with doing, as I was under a pressure invisible to them.

"It was a shame that our discussion was cut short last night," Riff decided to punctuate his master's remark, focusing the limelight on me more, if that was at all possible. "Now that we are all more rested, we should continue."

Even Merry appeared to be intent to spill the sticky dark contents of my past over them, even though she had been more preoccupied with trying to dissect an apple several moments a go.

Despite the thick summer sunlight coating my skin like honey, I had to stifle a shudder. The dread was a lead ball on top of my current stomach contents, but the logic in my brain coaxed me to get this part over with.

"I've always been very ordinary, to tell be honest," I decided against pausing to consuming any more appetizers, as if my mouth were to become distracted it may not be able to be cajoled to form any further words.

"I was raised in an ordinary household in Shanklin, by standard parents and I attended school like every other child. I didn't have to work, however, as my second cousin once removed was a noble, so my parents insisted I be raised in the leisurely fashion of a noble lady." I was overwhelmed by how mind numbingly simple that had been. All the horrific details and extras that could have been freed hadn't managed to find their way off the tip of my tongue and into the unknowing ears of those I could never tell.

I could hear my breath coming out in ragged uncontrolled breaths, which seemed to resonate in my ears. I was glad that they did not seem to regard them as any cause for concern. I leaned back in my wire seat. I ignored the sensation of the metal digging through my skin and causing goose bumps on the small patches of bare skin that pressed into the chair, running my fingertips over my clammy forehead, to disperse the thin film of sweat that had developed.

"I'd have thought someone like you would have fallen from the heavens at birth," Cain seemed to speak without realizing it. "And been adopted by whatever lucky soul came across you first."

"Big brother!" Merry squealed "I've never heard you speak like that to someone before."

"Why Merry," he chuckled, patting her on the head, much to her adorable aggravation "I've never met anyone like Cathy before."

Unexplainably, I looked across at Riff to see his reaction. He was already evaluating mine. I wasn't sure how my corollary would appear to him. In my minds eye, I looked like a provoked tomato. I always felt the collision of anger and embarrassment when he offered me random, over exaggerated compliments.

The only sound in the following silence was me eating the food Merry had given me at a meticulously slow rate, wishing everyone would at least try to stop staring.

I was left almost completely alone after brunch, as Merry-much to her dismay-was taken for what she described as 'a tedious hour of being told things I already know by some stuffy overpaid hag', and Riff (after receiving what was supposed to be a discreet signal from Cain) had to attend to some unspecified duties. But inevitably, that meant I was alone with Cain.

_I'd enjoy his company more, if he managed to control his damn tongue. _At the very least, he had not demanded to drag me around by the arm, like a dog on a leash. He had taken me to the West drawing room, the same place he had been desperate to remove me from the previous night. He seemed far more contented to sit down today, probably because Oscar hadn't recently been sprawled across any of the seats. I chose the chair that was situated furthest from him.

I had never thought it would be this hard to converse with someone, but apparently it was. Even a single syllable would do the trick; just so long as I could distract him from staring at me with such curiosity, that I felt like his specimen. But no matter how much I wished I could say something, my ability to move my muscles had fled from me in one dreadful moment of escapable embarrassment.

"You seem uncomfortable." He solved my personal turmoil by speaking first, even if he was stating the obvious.

"Surely you always make people this nervous, or am I just paranoid?" My tone remained perfectly level, though their intent to wound him was perfectly clear.

"Despite my attempts at hospitality, you seem all too eager to dislike me." he mused.

"Perhaps you are simply a dislikeable person." I lost my struggle to seem anything but unruffled, a blood red fog clinging to the corners of my vision, all too willing to cloud my eyes completely.

"You seem to be able to act charming, and amiable," he spoke after a few painful moments of silence "but you often become tactless and vindictive," he rose from his seat, and with slow, deliberate steps, revelling in my every cringe, came to a crouch in front of me "why is that?"

In a moment of unadulterated insanity, I said something that wasn't a relatively impersonal fact about myself, but an insight into me.

"I'm shy and I'm afraid of being rejected, I think if I don't keep myself in a bullet proof cocoon everyone will hurt me in one way or another and I'm selfish and I think if I tell people how I feel they'll laugh and rip my heart out for everyone to see without a single thought as to how much I need to keep all the things I'm telling you right now hidden." My words came rushing out of me in a single uncontrolled torrent, leaving me breathless enough that I didn't yet have the opportunity to take it all back, telling him what a half-wit he had been for believing all of that nonsense.

I allowed myself a cautionary glance at him, but I began staring at him with the same intense curiosity he had been examining me with several minutes ago.

He seemed to be caught somewhere between stunned and amused, his expression altering every few seconds as they clashed and struggled to dominate his face. I waited as patiently as I could manage for him to finally muster an answer to my ravings, but the longer I sat in my expectant pocket of silence, the chance of him providing me with a response (even an insulting or humiliating one) grew slim.

My own feelings became blurred as an unpleasant mixture of resentment and hurt simmered under my skin. I resisted the temptation to smash his face into the floor; instead leaving him crouched while I attempted to escape. _He probably doesn't even care,_ I was already fuming-my emotions can develop at alarming rates- _two-faced, insolent pig!_

"Is that the first true thing you have ever told me?" I had barely endangered the doorknob by pulverising it with my clenched fist when he put forward his reply. Though my pride told me to walk away and leave him hanging without an answer to his question, it was a reaction I had not even considered as a possible rejoinder to my rushed explanation of my personality. But I disregarded my immature pride, and returned to my chair, manoeuvring past Cain, still frozen in what was undoubtedly becoming an uncomfortable position.

"No." Any verbal impact I could cause had already been wasted.

"Honestly?" he didn't seem to be taken with my monosyllabic answer.

"What would I gain from lying? Especially about something like that?" Every word I had told him was the truth, but I was tiring of his persistent questioning of my honesty.

"You seem to be the type who would." He unlocked himself from his fixed position, sitting on the carpet at my feet. I fixed him with a condescending glare; it seemed somehow appropriate considering he was perched at my feet.

"I would divulge the 'type' I assumed you to be, but it would be best to keep that kind of thing out of a marginally civilised conversation." I sneered.

He chuckled at my insult, but I found I was neither surprised nor irritated. _Such behaviour from him is expected_.

"You're not even **trying** to be courteous anymore." He had many to contain his snickers, but his humour was still blindingly apparent in his voice.

"Courtesy does not come naturally to me." A somewhat redundant statement on my part.

"I don't need to be told that." He laughed again, this time at his own insult. I decided against reacting to such a petty comment, as it would imply that I was insecure. Taking into account that I wasn't going to respond, he sighed, making a feeble attempt to be serious.

"I'm sorry," he struggled to catch my eye, as I was staring fixatedly at my hands. I didn't even bother to look up when he stood, looking down at me with what can only be described as affection. I resisted the tremors that threatened to run through my muscles. He moved to the side of my chair, and I concentrated on the shine of his shoes against the soft pastel of the plush carpet. He leaned against the side of my chair running his fingers through my hair.

"I haven't exactly been treating you with the courtesy you deserve either," he became obsessed with studying my hair, feeling the way it slid through his fingers and staring intently at its unremarkable colour. "But for someone so beautiful, you can be very vulgar Cathy."

"When I am defying the rules of society in my opinion of your sister, I am visionary, but when I act in the way I do, I am vulgar." This was not an accusation, merely a statement of fact.

"You could make the effort to be more pleasant," he mused. "At the very least for me."

I considered his latest proclamation; he did have a point. He had been civil with me until my standoffishness had caused him to snap, and he had given me a roof over my head. But I would not admit that I was changing my ways-or at least not directly.

"Rome wasn't built in a day," I intoned "so you should expect this to take years." I allowed myself to look up now that I had agreed to his request, and all my instincts told me to leap back a foot or two. Cain had moved his face disturbingly close to mine. He had a peculiar look on his face, but I wasn't sure how to interpret it.

As if he wasn't close enough, he leaned in further; the only thing occupying my vision was him. The only occupying his face was an elated smile.

"Well then," his breath slithered over my skin "I guess I'll have you all to myself for a long time.


	6. Phase 6: Denied Orders

_Authors Note: _Hopefully this won't take as long to write as the last one, but I can only hope. I've decided to start including my plot, instead of roaming wild and free with the chapter content. This one is also shorter than the past four chapters.  
I do not own Godchild.

The remainder of the day had been how I imagined most days as an esteemed noble must be-long, repetitive and above all, excruciatingly dull. I had come dangerously close to internally combusting when Riff notified me that Cain was supposed to attend multiple dinner parties on that day, but upon seeing my (supposedly amusing) expression at this news, Cain told Riff to pass on the message that he would not be able to attend. He had to repeat himself, as his chuckles made his words indistinguishable. I glared at him with icy vigour, but did nothing more.

As soon as the hours reached double digits, I had escaped to my room to bask in my solitude. Though I greatly appreciated being on my own, it soon lost its charm. I was back into my bed before I had even been out of it for twelve hours.

I was close to drowning in perspiration when Riff informed me of the letter that he had received; the only form of address had been my name.

"Miss Cathy," I couldn't even conjure enough strength to instruct him to just call me Cathy. "Are you alright?" his tone questioned my health. It was almost wavering on hysteria. _If this is what Riff thinks of my reaction to the letter, god only knows what Cain will think._

"Of course I am." I attempted a smile, but this seemed to make him even more nervous. I suppose being convinced by my effort to seem casual would be a blow to anyone's intelligence.

"Perhaps I should get Cain…" he had obviously already decided to include him with or without my approval, inching towards the door should I do anything rash to stop him.

"Riff, it's none of Cain's business." I stated flatly. Riff seemed torn between the decision of bringing Cain to wiggle some sort of explanation for my behaviour out of me, or allowing me to have my privacy, for once.

"You wish to be alone?" he had thankfully chosen my preferred option, of letting me have hysterics on my own.

"Very much so." I gushed with relief. In the event of Cain entering the room, the letter stood a good chance of being read by at least one person who was not me.

"Call me if you need anything." We both knew that we would not see each other again that night, but his courtesy knew no bounds.

The door had barely clicked to a close when I had reached the dresser, seizing the letter opener that had been balanced precariously on the edge. I did not even register the sharp slash of the blade slicing my fingertips, which I had rather recklessly placed in the path of the blade in my haste to open the letter. My hands were not deterred by the blood loss, scrambling over each other to remove the letter from its prison.

I knew I would loathe every word written in it, but I did not hesitate to read it:

_Catherine,_

_I expected no more than nothing from you. You have come further than I thought was possible. But in case you were just lucky, I will only entrust you with one job at a time.  
__The girl could prove to be a liability. Dispose of her in as __discreet__ a manner as you can manage._

_Freak_

_The girl_! What was he thinking?

How could I possibly manage to kill Merryweather under Cain's nose, in his own house? I also couldn't recall murder ever being part of my 'contract', let alone murder of an innocent young girl because he theorised that she could be a 'liability'.

I considered the few possible reasons I had concluded he would have for putting forth this instruction. The most likely scenario I could picture was that he was practicing his power over me, like he was checking to see how many holes he had left in my cage in case I made a bid for freedom.

Glaring venomously at the blood stained scrap of paper, I began rooting through my near empty drawers for a writing implement and more paper. I slapped the fresh sheet down on the desk, stabbed the ink with my quill, and began writing with a vengeance:

_Freak,_

_You are an arrogant swine.  
__Your power play is immature, and I refuse to kill 'the girl', as you so tactlessly call her.  
__Pulling one of your 'I control the life and death of people you care about' stunts will only result in you having one less bargaining chip, and if you recall, you had a few of them to begin with, you brain-dead son of a bitch.  
__Killing Cain/Riff/Merryweather to 'persuade' me as it were will only bring your so-called plan to a grinding halt.  
__I expect further, less mindless orders soon.  
__Bastard._

_Catherine_

I added the last insult on an indignant whim, trying to fit as many cusses into the letter as I could before it began to seem childish.

I contemplated whether I should ring the bell to call Riff and send the letter immediately, or wait until the morning and post it myself. I swiftly decided on the latter, as I would not think it beyond Riff to read my letter. He may be a servant, but he was a resolutely loyal servant; any danger Cain could potentially be in would unnerve him.

My rage now burning in the form of words on paper, I was left with an inner ache. For the umpteenth time this week I agonized over the terrible question -how had I come to be the possession of such a vile creature?

I already knew the dismal answer though. I was weak and frail. So easy to take advantage of. I was particularly vulnerable when my parents died, cowering in the refuge of my best friend, a delightful young woman named Jessica, only a year or two older than myself. She gave me a roof over my head and unending comfort in my darkest hour, and I adored her with all my heart.

I remember the day I came home from shopping; I had bought Jessica a new dress for her birthday. I had been in a better mood than usual that day, thinking that my life could be getting better, thanks to her. I had entered the house, not noticing how dormant it seemed. I ambled into the living room, practically leaping out of my skin upon seeing the man lounging in what I had claimed as my chair. Jessica's head lay in his lap, beaming up at me with her usual warm radiance. If this was not disturbing enough (despite her age, Jessica had no romantic conquests), Jessica's body was not in the room.

"Catherine Strange," he smirked at me, triumph clouding his features. His expression wasn't altogether unlike that of a fisher, when a fat juicy fish has taken the bait on the end of his line. "I have a proposal for you."

I pulled myself from my abysmal flashback, regaining enough awareness to notice I was crying. I was overcome by the same strange exhaustion I had experienced the night before, wearily slipping both letters and the bloodied letter opener into the drawer. I prayed that Cain and Riff would not skulk around my room the next morning.

I crawled into the warm confines of my bed, spiralling down into a fit of depression while I spiralled down into sleep.


	7. Phase 7: Improvising

_Authors Note: _It's been so long since I wrote the sixth chapter! I apologize for the ridiculously long wait, but writers block plagued me for a considerable length of time. I'm not completely happy with this chapter, but I'm just pleased enough that I actually managed to write it.  
I do not own Godchild.

"Catherine!" Angela waved warmly, dispelling all the anxiety I had felt about coming. I had become tired of hiding in Cain's mansion several days ago, convincing him that venturing out into society would do some good. He became less reluctant when I reminded him of Angela, Marianne and Karen, who I was certain, would be frolicking among the high class Londoners. Cain had obviously decided that I was still too fragile and pathetic however, as he never allowed me to get any further than ten feet away from him.

I was infuriated at myself for feeling flattered instead of vexed by his persistent attention. I loathed the way I smiled to myself whenever his nervous hues crossed mine, and for the first time (but definitely not the last) I regretted my agreement to treat him cordially. He didn't understand that I never showed anyone else the same grace.

_Why am I being nice to him again?_

"So?" Karen didn't bother with the pleasantries like her companion; Marianne had managed to stop herself from asking instantly at the very least, though her desire to repeat her friends query was obvious.

"What's it like living with _him_?" Karen nodded to Cain, ignoring the fact that he was looking our way constantly.

"It's not completely dissimilar to living in my own hotel. The number of servants he has is monumental." I kept my comments vague, knowing they were only curious about one thing. For a young lady of status to be a resident in the household of a bachelor, her fee must be something other than money.

"We're speaking to you seriously," Angela spoke so that only those within half a dozen inches of her could hear, looking upon me sternly "Did Lord Cain attempt anything…" she broke off, peering in what she most likely presumed to be a scathing fashion at the Earl"…vulgar?"

They gazed at me in a pitying fashion, already assuming the answer was yes. I could expect this behaviour of Marianne and Karen, but even though my acquaintances with her had been brief, I had thought Angela to be above this cliché that all men ever thought about in the presence of a woman was sexual intercourse. I felt a little dismay at this, my previous worries about this occasion returning. _At least my reasons for being here are not purely social._

"We should probably stop talking about this now," Marianne spoke for the first time, but I wouldn't describe it as speaking. It would be better described as a strained sequence of squeaks. "Since Lord Cain is approaching us this very moment." While Marianne stopped breathing entirely, Karen began to hyperventilate, struggling to stay upright. I nearly laughed at them. Never had I seen ladies act with so little decorum at the thought of a man.

I turned away from them to see Cain already at my shoulder, looking coldly upon my companions. I cleared my throat to gain his attention, and also so he wouldn't cause Marianne or Karen to faint. He averted his gaze back to me, his expression instantly softening.

"We'll leave you two alone." Angela whispered, somewhat conspiratorially. _I'll have to speak to her later about this _I decided.

"Catherine," I felt my heart stutter. Cain sounded worryingly serious…and almost nervous. "We have a problem."

"What is it?" I lowered my voice, which I was surprised was still in use; my throat felt dry as sand.

Cain said nothing, simply gripping my forearm and leading me to the edge of the hall. I was too anxious to notice all the stares and whispers that people were indiscreetly exchanging over Cain making physical contact with me.

Once we had reached a partially private area, he came to a stop, putting his hands on my shoulders and leaning in to speak quietly.

"There has been some discussion about you," his voice was rapid, his breathing a suddenly uncommon occurrence "and some have been saying that… you are linked to the murder of a young woman… Jessica Fischer?"

He stood up straight to evaluate my reaction.

I involuntarily clenched my fists, my nails piercing my skin. This was Freak's doing, or at the very least, someone who was against him. Either way, this did not bode well for me unless heads rolled. Immediately. Anyone who knew about something or someone from my past had to die, to minimize any risk of my personal information spreading, potentially to enemy ears.

Cain had noticed my distress at hearing her name, so I swiftly formulated a plan that would use my reaction to my own advantage.

"She was a friend of mine," I made sure to bow my head mournfully "she was helping me to get my life in order… after my parents death. One day when I came home, I found she had been…murdered…" _I'm not bending the truth _I reminded myself, as I began to feel guilty when Cain squeezed my hand in sympathy _I am simply not sharing every detail. _

"The way this rumour is being spread makes it seem like you were the murderer," Cain was nor scowling balefully across the room at the gossipers. I knew that if he were to storm over and claim that the gossipee (me) was innocent, and that he knew because I had claimed it to be so, that would make me only more suspicious in their eyes.

"Delilah aren't going to get away with it this time." He muttered, taking a few decided steps towards the culprits.

"Wait," I grabbed him by the lapel, pulling him back with ease. "Who or what is Delilah?" I demanded. His scowl was only intensified by my question. I stared him down, determined to claim his secret.

"Cain," I spoke gently "as embarrassing as it is, you are being intimidated by a woman into divulging information. Who," I repeated "or what is Delilah?"

"Delilah," his face became blank, his tone expressionless "is the secret organisation run by my father. And," he leaned in so we were uncomfortably close "I will only tell you that by simply knowing of its existence, you are in danger. Keep your senses sharp and watch out for their agents." He turned on his heel, marching away in a brooding huff.

At least, now I knew openly of Delilah, which would benefit me when I actually came to the task of doing away with it. I was rather pleased that I had progressed this far, but I still felt the melancholy that comes with knowing that after tonight, you will be a murderer.

I stalked after Cain, who hadn't gone very far since despite avoiding me; he still refused to leave me on my own. He folded his arms as I approached, thinking I would ask him more questions about Delilah, thinking this time he was ready to stand his ground.

"Who did you hear that earlier gossip from?" I enquired, taking him by surprise. He took a moment to lose the stunned demeanour, before pointing a flamboyant lady, no more than five years older than myself. I felt the bile rising in my throat when I thought about her night would be ending, but stomped over to her regardless. I wouldn't put it past Freak to kill Merry, and even if this would result in me terminating our contract, I would still feel grief. I glanced behind me to see if Cain was following; much to my relief, some infatuated young girls were forcing him to dance with them, rendering him unable to pursue me.

The group of gossipers did not seem disturbed by my arrival, most likely completely aware that I was not a murderer. If anything, they seemed to almost find it amusing that I had come to confront them, as if they already had enough on me to stop me from causing them any damage.

"You," I pointed directly at Cain's informant. She turned to me, her face sweating in a most unsavoury manner, despite how hard she was fanning herself. I refused the impulse to comment childishly no it. "You began this rumour, did you not?"

She did not bother to try and uphold its supposed truth "Yes." She smirked. Her tone attached an implied 'what are you going to do about it?' on the end of her statement.

"Your rumour was quiet superbly designed and distributed," I beamed at her, throwing in a curtsy for effect "Touché."

Everyone was dumbfounded by the fact that I had come to congratulate her on the immature rumour, rather than confront her about it. However, as I had hoped, the novelty of this wore off quickly, and they were soon seeking more riveting company, leaving me and the gossiper alone.

"How did you know of my acquaintance with the late Ms. Fischer?" I queried. She chuckled, realizing I had no experience in 'Advanced Back-Stabbing' as she did.

"It is very simple to find out the details of any newcomer in our high quality social circles," she linked arms with me, leading me to the balcony for some greatly needed fresh air now her 'friends' had found better things to do. "One must simply know the people to ask and the favours one must do to earn the information."

"Does it not get tiring to do some many favours, all for the sake of spreading truth based lies?" Keeping her talking long enough so she would become distracted was imperative. I needed to be certain she wouldn't scream, or do anything to attract attention.

"There is so little entertainment for high class women," she sighed sorrowfully as we brushed aside the thick velvet curtains, finally reaching the gallery. "And creating bad reputations for newcomers can leave more marriage options for the elders such as myself," she strolled to the edge, placing her palms on the stone, oblivious to the fact that I was hanging back to draw the curtains behind us. I reached under my sleeve for my knife, ignoring the background noise of her long winded speech of how lonely she was and the music from the hall. I stared in horror at my hand- I was not altogether appalled by the large knife I held, but instead how steady my hand was.

I tried to take a strange kind of comfort in the stillness of my hand, willing my erratic heartbeat, and the hectic pace at which my thoughts were crashing into each other to be as calm as my hand could be. I forced myself not to contemplate what killing for that man would mean, focusing on the dreadful task at hand.

I took a deep breath as I turned to the open air of the balcony. I took a moment to enjoy the view combined with the cool breeze before resting my tearless eyes on the woman whose name I didn't even know, who was still talking.

My steps did not falter as I walked forward, though my chest tightened I fear. I nearly laughed at the irony of me, the killer, being scared. I stopped in her shadow, moving suddenly and sharply, not allowing her any time to react. I grabbed her chin, so I could cover her mouth while jerking her head up so her terrified eyes met mine. I did not settle on them, concentrating on the knife, and what I was going to do now- the main event.

I pressed the tip of the knife to the left side of her neck, slicing it open with a single flick of the wrist. The whole ordeal took only a second. She was dead before she hit the ground, and I was thankful I would not have to face the betrayed look a living person would give me. I glanced down at my dress for any incriminating blood stains, but found none. Satisfied that I could walk without suspicion through the hall, I pulled my knife wielding hand back, before throwing the knife as far off the balcony as I could. It spun through the air; a silver glint and the bittersweet glimmer of red and then it was invisible to my eye, no longer under the sombre light of the moon.

I ignored the crumpled, bloodless body, making my way back to the hall, my only concern being if Cain had noticed my absence yet.

I had killed, but I found that I didn't really care all that much. What is one human life to me, anyway? My freedom is my only desire. People only get in the way.


	8. Phase 8: Avoiding Suspicion

_Authors Note: _I curse myself for taking so long... I had intended for this chapter to be longer, but I wasn't happy with it to begin with, so I decided it would be best to finish it before it got worse. I'll try to make the next chapter better!

* * *

No one had noticed my brief absence or that my late companion was no longer with me. _I'm not surprised. _I cast my eye over to where her minions were consuming indecent amounts of wine. I let a small smile curve the corners of my mouth up. Hopefully they would all soon be too drunk to even remember seeing me with her, let alone see me on the balcony with her.

I strode deeper into the ostentatious hall, a spring visibly lightening my step. No matter how horrendous this plan was, it was going shockingly well. I'd much rather have this ordeal over and done with swiftly, rather than wait for months, maybe years, for things to end in my favour.  
I weaved through the tipsy clusters of people cluttering the hall, in search of Cain. I would hate to think what he might do if he were forced to spend to long with any of his admirers; more than one person might end up dead tonight if he became that aggravated.

I spotted him on the other side of the hall, a black smear on the glittering wall. He was slumped against it, his head in his hands. I concealed a chuckle, losing myself in the thoughts of what little wonders he could have got himself into in order to look so drained.  
I was practically skipping as I approached him, my ecstasy rising as he glanced warily up at me. He (rather sensibly) suspected that I would mock whatever unfortunate incidents his fanatics had forced him into.

"What endeavours have made you so sour, may I ask?" I leaned lightly on the wall next to him, allowing a gloating tone to saturate my voice.

"Answering would only make me feel worse." He shuddered violently, and I suppressed another jeering giggle. I was sure that it the experience must have been traumatising, considering how pleased his 'attackers' looked.

"Have you _dealt_ with her then?" He had regained his composure, and had offered me his traditionally black clad arm. I couldn't help but be reminded of when I first arrived at Hargreaves Manor, but distracting him from the original question might look suspicious.

"You make it sound so aggressive!" I shook my head at him as I took his arm, surprised that he would think little me could possibly do anything wicked. He was correct of course, but he didn't know that.

"You're aggressive with me." He intoned calmly, but he looked rather hurt. Almost like a wounded kitten.

"Only because you make it your life's work to aggravate me." I retorted.

"How could I not," his eyes glittered mischievously "when it is so easy?"

A scream echoed through the gaudy hall. Someone had found the body. I felt my heart leap into my throat and for several seconds all I could hear was its panicked pulsing.  
I had been confident up until this point, but now I was certain that someone- if not Cain himself- would remember that I had been the last person seen with her.  
Even if they didn't, I couldn't possibly **not** give myself away now I was so nervous. Someone was sure to notice that my distress went beyond ordinary limits.

I held my breath as Cain dragged towards where people were now flocking outside the balcony in an attempt to glimpse the corpse. His face was deeply creased with an anxious frown, and his eyes had lost all of the euphoria they had shimmered with moments before.

"What happened?" Cain had reached the opening onto the balcony, and was now commanding the attention of a rather petrified young man. He stuttered for a few moments, his voice thick with fear. He vomited violently at our feet, missing the hem of my elaborate (as well as expensive) blue dress by less than an inch.

"Well?" I prompted coldly.  
He still seemed unable to speak, merely waving his arm in the general direction of the closed curtain, before staggering off through the crowd.

"You should stay here. I hate to think what the sight would reduce you to if it can do that to a man of more years than me." He had passed through the curtain before I had the chance to defend my gender.

I sighed, folding my arms indignantly over my chest. A very masculine action, and one that underlined my 'I can look at a dead body even if I am a woman' rather gracefully.  
I was only kept waiting in my infuriated posture for a few moments before Cain came striding back through the curtains, a grave expression clouding his features.

"What is it?" I demanded, planting my hands on my hips.

"A young woman by the name of Rose Swan has been murdered," he hesitated, then muttered "but that isn't the dominant problem." Before I could manipulate him into divulging the 'dominant problem' he spoke of, it came waltzing through the curtain.

I almost fainted from the overwhelming wave of relief that flooded through me.

She was wearing her black wig, and she was dressed in finery so ostentatious that it almost matched the blue dress that enveloped my form (purchased by Cain, a day or so before the event; I would never have chosen something pretentious for myself), but I recognised her instantly.

She was the moon card. I had been forced to memorize her face, along with all the other tarot cards in order to fulfil my macabre purpose; to kill all the tarot cards for the Bloody Rose Association.  
She regarded Cain coldly for a few seconds, before her eyes flickered to me, or more precisely, the hand Cain had placed upon my bare shoulder when he rejoined me. She was momentarily stunned, but then her eyes narrowed as she strode past us. Even after she retreated through the hall, I could still feel the chilling pressure of her eyes on me.

"She is our dominant problem." He spoke tonelessly.

"Why?" I enquired, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the heat emanating from his hand on my skin.

"That is one of Delilah's top agents." His voice had now lowered, and had been distorted into something close to a growl.

"Really?" I raised a clueless eyebrow. Inside my head fireworks were spinning in celebratory circles. _Who else could draw the attention away from me better, _I thought gleefully _than a tarot card?_

"Yes…" his voice had lost some of its angered vigour "I've put you in danger."

"You said I was in danger simply by knowing about them." I reminded him, dreading what he would say next.

"That's beside the point," he snapped "now that you've been seen with me they'll stop at nothing to…" he looked into my eyes, and he looked genuinely concerned "I can't have you around me any longer. You must leave immediately. Riff will-"

"I am not going to be carted off because I could potentially be harmed." My tone was icy. "I couldn't care less what happens to me. Delilah must be thoroughly evil if they can rile you up in this way," I ran my eyes over him, taking in all the little indicators that added together screamed anxious "so I will help you…dispatch them, or whatever you would like to call the act of bringing about their demise."

As soon as I had finished speaking, I could hear the truth in my words. I would stop at nothing to obliterate Delilah and bring an end to my suffering. I would be freed from Freak's clutches, and I would have helped a man I could consider a friend in the process. I couldn't currently see a downside to making my wish to destroy Delilah known to Cain… so long as he didn't discover my true motivation. He could imagine my motivation to be whatever he wished.

He looked surprised, to say the least; I waited for several moments for him to get his bearings, but sadly he was not destined for that yet. Before I could blink, he had thrown his bony arms around me, much to the shock of anyone within viewing range.

I did not react in a way one would usually expect a teenage girl to react. I did not blush or shriek or faint. I gripped him by the shoulders and ripped him from me with ease, in an attempt to lose the attention of the surrounding nobles. This attempt was naturally not well received.  
I spotted Riff hovering around the main entrance, watching us with increasing intent. I locked my arm around Cain's, who was now regarding me with a pained expression that seemed to get that much more upset whenever he wore it. I dragged him around the edge of the hall, the majority of eyes following us.

"Don't so that in public," I whispered to him "unless you want us to be _discussed_."

"Since when did you care what other people thought of you?" he sounded as hurt as he looked.

"Since a rumour began to circulate that hinted that I was a murderer, Earl Hargreaves." I used his title for the first time since our meeting, feeling his sparse muscles tighten when I did. I felt an unexpected stab of guilt for being so harsh with him, so I decided to attempt to lighten the mood.

"You can hug me as much as you like when we return to the mansion," I added, looking up at him with considerably softer eyes "and I'm sure you'll exploit that statement to its full extent while I am under your roof."

The corner of his mouth curved upwards, and the wounded kitten expression was locked away again, until his actions led me to snap at him again, as I surely would.

"You are supposed to be being cordial towards me, after all." He commented, relaxing his arm.

We reached Riff after the agony of being scrupulously watched by almost everyone in the hall. It was only agony for me. Riff and Cain seemed blissfully oblivious to the attention; though in reality they just cared that little about it that they could ignore it so easily.

"That was certainly an unexpected display of affection Cain." Riff intoned, leading us out of the near silent hall.

"The occasion called for it." Cain replied casually, gazing at me in a way that can only be described as infatuation. _He is more of an adolescent that any of us realize_ I thought.

Riff did not enquire as to 'the occasion', but he cast a quizzical glance over his shoulder at me. He noted the look Cain was giving me and accepted that as his legitimate answer.

I came to the annoying apprehension that I would have to squash Cain's fixation before my purpose was fulfilled, or I would simply have to leave, hurting him in the process.

I scolded myself as I realized I cared about whether I hurt him or not.


	9. Phase 9: Stunned

_Authors Note: _I actually managed to buckle down and get this chapter done in just over an hour, and not at about 4am either… go me!  
This chapter is somewhat short however… oh well; it has relevant character development…

* * *

I could not sleep, no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't decide whether this annoyed me or was a relief; sleep would most likely bring guilty nightmares, despite the fact that I didn't _feel _any remorse.

I had been sitting upright in my bed for almost two hours, contemplating the reasons for my noticeable lack of exhaustion. This, after all, had been one of the most (mentally, emotionally, as well as physically) tiring nights of my life. The only logical reason I could summon was that I was plagued by guilt… I wasn't.

My concentration on the subject began to dwindle, as the insufferable ache in my spine for sitting so straight for this length of time finally pounced upon me. With a resigned sigh, I fell back onto my crease-less pillow.

After a few endless minutes, all traces of pain in my vertebrae had slipped away. It was only now I noticed an uncomfortable twisting in my entrails, like my guts were attempting to punch a hole through my abdomen. Why hadn't I noticed this before?

_Is _this _guilt? _I wondered _I don't really feel guilty. The murder may have been for selfish purposes, but I suppose in a way it wasn't; I prevented the death of Merryweather, Riff…or Cain._

Thinking his name sent a painful tremor. _Maybe that's what this is about… I feel guilty for lying to him…_

I flipped over onto my stomach, curling my fingers around my scalp. I mentally cursed the day I had met that presumptuous Count. He had only served to complicate things for me, more so than they already were.

I jumped when a soft knock sounded through the scrupulously varnished door, thinking, in a frenzied moment, that someone had heard my thoughts insulting Cain and had come to reprimand me. This doubt remained when the door opened to reveal Riff- I wouldn't be surprised if anything Cain related was beamed telepathically to him.

"I'm glad you're still awake," he whispered, slipping into the room and soundlessly closing the door behind him. "I wish to discuss something with you, without the possibility of Cain interrupting."

"What is it Riff?" I pulled myself into an upright position, already guessing at what it was.

"Cain confided in me that you rather passionately declared that you would help to obliterate Delilah," he sat on the side of my bed. Even though he was, as always, perfectly polite and civil, his voice wavered as he mentioned Delilah, a trace of resentment breaking through "will you be true to your word?"

"I keep all of my promises; I can guarantee you of that." I felt a wave of melancholy flood over me as I remembered just how accurate I was in saying that. Tonight was a vibrant reminder of exactly how far I would go to keep a promise, no matter who it was to.

"I think if you were to deceive him," he continued on despite my vehement assurance "it may… push him over the edge, as it were…" he paused with a sigh "Cain's life has not exactly been the most pleasant."

"Whose, in this bittersweet manor, has?" I reminded him tonelessly. He looked up from the spot he was keeping his eyes fixed on, regarding me carefully. I wondered what he thought I meant by that, and by his expression, I could instantly tell he would inform Cain of my somewhat bleak statement.

"Cain was the child of his father's sister." he launched into a brief review of Cain's life so far "He was beaten by his father and his mother, losing her sanity due to his birth, attempted to kill him." He glanced at my face, to see if any of this was having an affect on me. My face was fixed in its ever emotionless expression "Cain poisoned his own father… though this clearly did not kill him, as he might have hoped it had." He paused again, for such a length of time that I thought he had finished reciting 'the Cain Saga'.

"He often claims that I was his saviour… that I rescued his soul from the suffocating shadows that still haunt him now," he looked into my face once again, his eyes pleading me to closely consider what he would say next. "But in all honesty, I think you are the light in his life. I have never seen him so devoted to protecting one person, not even his sister. I could bet my life that he is in love with you."

He sat in silence, expecting an answer I was suddenly incapable of giving. My heart stopped for a few moments, caught in a reality completely separate from the rest of my body. I sat there for minutes as my heart wheezed after the stress of the indirect declaration.

"I've have been keeping you from sleeping," Riff finally spoke again when it became apparent I had been rendered speechless "I will see you in the morning." He strode from the room, but I was only yanked from my reverie when he clicked the door closed behind him.

I slid out of my dove white bed, stumbling across the room in a dazed fashion. I blew out every dying candle, before crawling into a ball under the covers.

_I'm Cathy_, I reminded myself every few seconds _I shan't, won't and above all _can't _care about Cain or what he feels…_

_I shan't care about this because he is only a deluded adolescent who will soon lose interest, _I weakly reasoned with myself _I won't care about this because I'm only going to end up deceiving him anyway; in fact, I already am!_ I moved onto the final point _and I can't care about him because I… don't care about people. Let alone him…_

Ironically, it was only during my crazed babbling did I finally lose consciousness.

Love is an exhausting thing.


	10. Phase 10: Love? Pt 1

_Authors Note:_ If you don't like this chapter, I just read all three books in the Gormenghast Trilogy (read it, it rocks) in one go- saying it's influenced my writing in a major way would be putting it lightly. One of the effects of this, it that a lot less happens in a lot more writing i.e. my chapters are probably going to get longer, but there will be less progress in them.  
I mean, look at this chapter. All that happens is Catherine wakes up, chats a bit, and decides to have breakfast. All that took as many pages as the chapter in which she kills someone, which, if you ask me, has a certain WTF?ness about it.  
I tried to create some kind of chemistry between Cathy and Cain without them actually speaking much, to test my skill, and failed epically. Almost as epically as I have failed at including a plot.  
I also wrote this one simply as something to post. Nothing really happens in it, just some talking and a lot of description. I felt so guilty about not posting anything in MONTHS so I decided to try and force myself from this rut.  
One more thing; I dare EVERYONE who reads this chapter to leave a review, no matter what. I doubt the results will be good, but so long as you don't flame me, I'm happy.

* * *

I scraped my eyelids in a feeble attempt to clear them of the parasitical fragments of sleep that clung to me. I lay motionless on my sweat slathered back for several moments before I finally realized I was not alone. Three dark figures stood in a menacing arc around my bed, while the other was perched next to me. I felt the panic rise in my throat for a moment before my eyes adjusted to the overwhelming brightness of the day, and I recognized the phantoms that encircled me.

Oscar was leaning on the wall to the right of my bed, a surprisingly casual stance considering he was in the bedroom of a woman he had only met once, and very briefly at that. I allowed myself to wonder for a moment what they were doing, watching me sleep in the early hours of the morning (for I had glanced at the clock and noted that for once, I had woken at a decent hour), but I decided it would not be the best impression to interrogate them first thing in the morning.

Riff stood at the foot of my bed, his hands folded meekly behind his back in a way that seemed almost unbearably Riff-like, and his snowy white hair glowed in the early morning light.

Cain stood to my left, looking like a wraith as he leaned over my bed, in his usual black attire. However, the serenity and beauty of his face could only be that of an angel. My heart spluttered unhealthily, as Riff's visitation was brought suddenly and sharply to the front of my mind as I laid eyes on Cain. I turned my gaze from his, attempting to stop myself from blushing.

When I looked up at the fourth figure again, I saw that it was Merryweather, spread across the lower half of my bed, gazing up at me with bright, incandescent eyes. It was only now did I realize the truth in all the rumours and tales of the Count's sister's beauty. She looked so striking like a cherub, pulsing with an impossibly indescribable beauty. To see her, no matter what setting she was in, or in what condition she might be, was a gift. My bed seemed drab and tatty beneath her; she was like a rose petal reclining on ashes.

"Good morning Catherine." She trilled, oblivious to the way I stared. I imagined I looked as Cain did, whenever he stared at me in that unsettling, searching manner. I was grateful that she had not noticed the way she captivated me.

"Good morning Merryweather." I sat up straight, pushing the thick covers away from me with listless arms. I beamed at her with a newfound passion. The first time I had truly smiled at her.

"Did you sleep well?" Cain wasted no time in sparking a conversation with me. I glanced up, expecting to see him still standing above me in that demonically radiant fashion, but was surprised to see that he had sat on my bed, and had rested his hand on my shin, that was thankfully still trapped beneath the sheets. I did not want to have to deal with Cain's closeness so early in the morning- not while I could still feel the tangible presence of my conversation with Riff.

"I slept very well, thank you." I lied. The only problem with getting up at the time I had intended to rise all the time I had been here was that since I had spent the majority of the night awake, I had only had a few restless hours sleep.

"I slept better than I ever have before," He smiled warmly. Having received a polite reply from me, he took this as a sign to continue conversation. For once, I welcomed it.

"You were in my dreams all night." His eyes glittered. I could see some of Merryweathers radiance in them, and for an enchantingly long moment, I melted under the stare I had previously found so aggravating. I rested my hand on top of his.

"Yeah," Oscar cut in, and also slumped down on the bed. He looked so brutish compared to Cain and Merryweather.

"We all know what sort of dreams _you'll_ have been having then."

Cain blushed violently, and glared at him with so great a deal of force I thought Oscar would be knocked from my bed (which was now becoming some kind of resting place for social rejects). While on our previous meeting, I would have cursed him with enough vehemence to match Cain's scowl, this time I laughed. Cain's eyes widened in shock, and I briefly regretted making such beautiful eyes contort themselves into such a graceless shape. This passed when his eyes readjusted themselves, so they were now locked upon me with the same familiar stare. He stared as if my unexpected behaviour was so tantalizing and enigmatic to him; as if it made him… love me more. As this thought flickered like a dying candle, my laugh took on a note of hysteria. I cursed myself. I resolved to only think of this was I was alone… or alone with Cain.

"At least he wasn't having the same sort of dream about someone half his age." My eyes flickered meaningfully to Merryweather. Oscar blushed, and began picking at his nails to draw his eyes away from everyone. Merryweather shrieked with laughter at my depraved joke.

"Catherine!" She gasped. I was a little surprised that she even understood my implications, but I reasoned that she _was _a very intelligent child. "You're so scandalous!" She turned to Oscar; he was still bowing his head in embarrassment.

"It's okay, Oscar," she said gently "Cathy was only joking."

"Yeah," I said breezily "After all, you can't be the only one to have fun playing with people." He glanced up at me, narrowing his eyes. After analysing me for a second, it seemed he had reached a conclusion; that maybe I wasn't so bad after all. He chuckled, and raised his head, assuming his air of cockiness.

"Miss Catherine, Master Cain," Riff spoke for the first time since I had awoken. It suddenly occurred to me that I had yet to ask why they had been in my room to begin with, but after assessing the matter decided it wasn't important enough for me to care.

"Unless we intend to spend the day in your bedroom, I suggest Cathy dress herself and we proceed to breakfast?" He raised a snowy eyebrow at us.

I thought it was strange the way he had said 'Miss Catherine, Master Cain,' as if we were a couple- was he referring to our discussion? I flicked my eyes across his face, probing for a sign. There was none.

Cain and I turned to one another, and in the same second, smiled bashfully. We were like a pair of adolescents, too shy to address one another. _That's because, _my mind chipped in _we are_. _That's stupid, _I scolded myself. Cain was too young to truly know what love was, and as for me…

"That would be delightful." I beamed at Cain, in the manner that only a childhood friend can get away with.

Returning the smile, Cain, forever the doting gentlemen, assisted me in escaping from the vastness of my bed, grasping my palms and helping me to my feet. I kept a firm grip of his hands, marvelling at their smoothness. Yet their smoothness- it was only a fragment of Cain. For once, I looked into, instead of at, that flawless, ice sculpture face of his, contrasted by the warmness of his expression. I thought of all that he had done for me, all the times he had spoken to me as if I were his goddess, all the times he had hooked that reedy arm of his round mine, and all the times he had stared at me with those gold-green eyes of his. I considered what my life would have been like if I hadn't met him, and hadn't endured what I had thought to be, at the time, wearisome experiences and trysts. I felt a physical pain in all cells of my body

In the fifteen seconds that I took to race through this thought process, my heart crashed.

For the second time in as many days, I doubted my heart.


	11. Phase 11: Love? Pt 2

_Authors Note: _I surprised myself with this chapter, I really did. In a single fleeting whim, I completely disregarded the ending I had originally devised and went in a whole different direction. In fact, I planned to write at least another three or four chapters, but at the rate I've been writing them recently, that would have taken years, so I decided to quit procrastinating and end it.  
Also, I've rewritten the proposal scene. I think it's much better than the crappy rushed version I did in the original.  
Enjoy.

After encasing myself in a gown the same jovial shade as grass, I rejoined the others and we began to make our way through the labyrinth that was Cain's manor house to wherever it was we were supposed to have breakfast. Riff walked a few paces ahead of the rest of us, a sombre protector, guiding us safely to our destination; I frowned slightly at his thin frame and the back of his chalk white head. That was the problem with him- too sombre, too mysterious… never revealing what needed to be known.

While Oscar kept a casual hand of Merryweather's shoulder, never breaking contact with her as he kept her amused with his cockiness and vulgar jokes, Cain had linked arms with mine in a way that had become so customary I felt as if we had been this way all our lives.

"I adore your dress, Catherine," he complimented, smiling somewhat shyly.

I laughed "Catherine; it sounds so formal," I surprised myself in saying something so bold and out of character, but I showed no sign of this "But regardless, thank you for the comment."

"Yes," he didn't manage to hide his surprise that I had said this. My heart twisted; I hated that he saw me as something to be feared. _Not feared exactly_, I groped in my mental thesaurus for the correct word or phrase, _more… worried that I will turn around and bite the hand that feeds._

"But it's just 'Cathy'… it sounds so…" he hesitated.

"Common?" his discomfort seemed almost perversely amusing. Everyone else I had known had wasted no time in reminding me how cheap the nickname 'Cathy' was, how improper for a young lady of such high upbringing and potential.

"Yes." He smiled sheepishly. I suddenly longed to touch his mouth, in one way or another.

"Catherine was never a brilliant name to begin with," I replied "I think 'Cathy' will do nothing to tarnish its reputation."

"What do you think is bad about the name Catherine?" his brow creased "I think it's a perfectly agreeable name. But" he laughed, in such a strained manner that if you had plucked his laughter as it hung in the air it would have resonated "that's probably because I associate it with you."

"I suppose there _are _worse names." I overlooked his tension. This was probably one of the longest conversations we had ever had without a monumental catastrophe occurring.

"Like Cain, for example." He smiled, yet again. I had never realized that he smiled so much.

"There's nothing wrong with a biblical name." I pointed out- even though I did partially agree with him in thinking that Cain was a somewhat unfortunate name to have.

He looked at me sceptically, then raised an eyebrow when he saw that I was being sincere.

"Is Riff even Riff's _real _name?" This was something I had wondered when I had first met him, but times always seemed far too serious for me to bring this up.

Cain shrugged, and said nothing.

I cursed myself for mentioning Riff, Cain's weak spot, dragging myself down slightly from my dreamily euphoric mood. Though I supposed that was all this had been; a heady dream that was inevitably going to wither away like a dying rose, only I doubted that this one would grow back.

Riff (who had dutifully been leading us through the corridors while we had been talking) suddenly veered left, taking us through a pair of magnificent double doors that at a glance could be mistaken for the gates of heaven.

The room was exactly what I should have expected from a manor as conventionally stunning as Cain's. The largest, most spectacularly gorgeous dining room that ever would and ever would exist, comically crowned with a dining table as long as a train, set immaculately with millions of sets of cutlery even though only five people would be sitting at it for their breakfast. I couldn't logically think of an occasion where a dining table as monumental as this one would be required.

Instead of sitting at the head of the table, we sat in the very centre of it, in a row so no one would have to trek round to the other side of the table (although Merryweather suggested that she and Oscar simply climb over the table so they could face us, Cain insisted we sit in a line- probably so Merryweather and Oscar would not be able to sit on their own individual side of the table unguarded, instead of maintaining their dignity and not crawling over furniture).

The row was spear-headed by me, followed by Cain, then Riff, sitting meekly in the centre, then Oscar and Merryweather (a seating arrangement I was surprised that Cain allowed).

Breakfast seemed to bear many resemblances to the brunch in Cain's 'garden' a few days ago, in that we were served mostly fruit and toast (or at least types of bread that could have once been toast- I recognized croissants among them, but that was it), along with dozens of types of jams for Merryweathers sweet tooth.

Roughly halfway through a meal that had been in comfortable silence, Riff startled us all by speaking.

"Miss Catherine," he slid his hand under the table, as if reaching for something "I believe there is something in this newspaper that will be of great distress to you." his thin, snow white hand extended, brandishing a newspaper that looked dull and brown when compared to his complexion.

I took the paper from him and instantly realized what he was talking about:

**Angela Crane Murdered**

"That's dreadful," I whispered; but not for the reasons everyone expected me to.

I had been (and I wasn't going to deny it) enjoying myself over the past few days, and had completely forgotten that I was supposed to have sent another letter to Freak, alerting him to my progress thus far. He had clearly become weary of my slacking and had decided to get my attention in a way more violent than usual.

But this was not all that troubled me.

Riff had obviously been planning to reveal the fact that Angela had been killed in front of the others. Had he thought my connection to Angela, and the fact that she was dead was coincidence he would have brought it up when we were alone, so I could grieve. But instead, he had confronted me in front of everyone (more specifically, in front of Cain)… maybe he hoped I would give something away in my reaction and the others would notice? That I would be forced to reveal myself in front of multiple witnesses?

My heart hammered erratically.

He suspected me!

"Oh, that's awful." Merryweather chimed in sympathetically, having moved from her seat and peering over my shoulder and reading the headline.

I glanced at Riff. He was as sober and stony faced as ever, but there seemed to be a spark in his eyes, willing me to say something so he could catch me out and reveal my betrayal to Cain.

"Catherine," Cain remained oblivious to the eye contact between Riff and me. "You knew Angela, didn't you?"

"Yes," Riff answered for me "she did."

Our eyes remained locked; predators ready to pounce.

To distract me from the horror of Angela's death, Cain whisked me away to a ball in the throbbing heart of a London, an exclusive affair that even the late Angela's snivelling 'friends' Marianne and Karen couldn't worm their way into. So exclusive, they might not have even have heard of its happening.

As soon as we arrived, I could feel a change in the air, and for once, it wasn't only because of Cain- after my seedy involvement in Jessica's death, people had been a little anxious around me for a few days, before it was finally dismissed as a tragic murder in which I had sadly been caught up.

But now, Angela had also been brutally murdered. Two women that were good friends of mine had been killed in the space of about six months.

Coincidence? Obviously not.

Cain however hadn't noticed people's new attitude towards me. He hadn't even made the connection between Jessica's and Angela's deaths.

How blind love can make us towards even the most blatant of facts.

"Cathy?" Cain asked "Would you like to dance?" He looked wary; he was certain I was going to refuse, but asked anyway; just in case.

I smiled. I was sick of being so needlessly cold and standoffish, and decided that for once, I wouldn't bite his head off. I would accept his request and give in to the secret desire that had always flickered inside me, to be a sweet and grateful person to the kindest man I knew.

It was at that moment, as I said yes, that I finally accepted that I was in love with him.

He looked shocked for a moment before returning my smile, and taking my hand. I had always been surprised at how someone who's skin was so pale, could have such a warm touch. He led me to the centre of the room, where other couples were gracefully dancing. As he took my waist, people finally got sick of being courteous enough to gossip about us quietly, the hall suddenly resounding as several dozen hushed voices returned to normal volume. Through the gibberish that echoed around us, I heard someone refer to me as the 'Lady of Poisons'.

I chuckled to myself internally. If only…

We began a slow restrained waltz. Cain was still a little tense about dancing with me, as if I were planning something devious.

I laughed. "Cain, I won't bite."

"And if I want you to?" He raised an eyebrow.

Any other day I'd have thrown him out a window. But now all I could do was blush and say in my most scolding voice "Cheeky!"

The music gained speed, and we with it. It was almost comical to see other lovers dancing with tentative restraint, while we had become so passionate, so energetically graceful in our movements.

Yet again, he had succeeded in distracting my mind completely from Angela, Freak and everything else in the world. _I really ought to thank him one day for freeing me so_, I thought dreamily.

Without warning, he removed his right hand from my waist and reached inside his jacket for something. I fought the urge to yank his hand back to my waist so I could feel the pressure of his fingertips on my hip, curious to see what he was going to remove from his coat. As he withdrew his hand, he came to an abrupt halt and slid my left hand off of his shoulder. I still couldn't see what he held in his hand. I felt the cold sensation of metal on my fingers, and then he released my hand.

An engagement ring winked at me from my limp finger. This was Cain's unique, quirky way of proposing.

In a single fell swoop, Cain had fulfilled my hearts desire and my worst nightmare.

"Come outside with me." He whispered softly, grasping me gently by the elbow and leading me through the masses of dancers and frolickers to a small staircase that led into a small, elegant garden, alive with jasmine flowers and roses.

Cain. Me. Marriage.

Everything I ever wanted and the one thing that I couldn't have.

Laying aside my self-pity for a moment, I wondered what could possibly make Cain want me. I had been dreadfully cruel to him despite his efforts to make me happy. But on top of that, how could after all the dreadful things I'd done?

Working for Freak, betraying him, killing that poor woman… Riff could see my evils. How could he be so blinded by love that he could not even see what was right in front of him?

I had no choice.

I had to tell him the truth about everything.

Then he could decide if he really wanted to marry me.

We did not walk very far from the hall before Cain stopped and turned me to face him, his hands resting on my elbows. We were standing by a pond, the fish and the lily pads disturbing the beautiful reflection of Cain, me and the sky.

Something in the adoring way he looked at me, in that single moment, in a way that could not be described in a million words made me want to die from shame of myself. I had been lying to him, ever since we met.

"Catherine," he spoke in a surprisingly calm voice "I adore you. I have never… I have never found someone in my life so vibrant and soulful; I doubt such a being exists. You are strong, brave, intelligent and compassionate, and even though you have tasted loss, and more than once you are still the sun in every room. There is nothing I have ever wanted more in this life, and will ever want more, than to spend forever with you."

I remained speechless for a few moments, before I finally accepted my conviction.

I could feel the fibres of my heart tearing as I began to speak.

"Cain, there is an organization that exists for the purpose of battling- and one day obliterating- Delilah," I could not bring myself to look at his face.

"They are called The Bloody Rose Organization, and I am their agent. My mission is to kill tarot cards. In order to achieve my goal, I was instructed to… infiltrate your household in order to gain insiders knowledge and access to them.

"Do not mistake me for being utterly heartless; I did not betray you willingly. The only reason I am their agent is because I was forced to submit to them after the madman controlling the Organization (a gentleman named Freak) murdered the woman I was lodging with, Jessica Fischer. He has since been blackmailing me into doing his bidding.

"That is why you met me, and why I entered your manor house. I had to complete my mission. I have your heart in my hands as a result. But you do not have mine."

My voice wavered on the last few words. I had decided that even if, by some miracle, he still wished to marry me after my confession, it would be a stupid thing to do.

Freak would surely kill him for interfering in my mission, so I broke his heart out of love.

How ironic.

I finally looked up at him, and saw all that I had hoped and dreaded to see.

Anger, hurt, and disgust.

_Oh, he __clearly__ wants to marry me now, _I thought bitterly.

He opened his mouth, but I suddenly found that I wouldn't be able to stand hearing his opinion on my 'profession'. I could already feel the tears in my heart without him having to rip it to pieces.

I turned and sprinted back through the garden and the hall, and out, out into the wide streets of London where nobody knew I was a killer. And even if they did, nobody would care.

This was more than could be said for how Cain felt about it.

I ran for gods knows how long, down dozens of nameless streets, before I finally stopped, my breath rasping painfully in my lungs.

I collapsed and wept as I had never wept before.


	12. Phase 12: Epilogue

_Authors Note: _Fear not, chapter 11 was not the last; though technically this is an epilogue, so this is the last one in this story.  
This has been rewritten due to its epic failure! Yay!  
Well actually, to be honest, the epilogue was never going to be that good, but I think this is, at least, an improvement on the original.  
Bye!  
LJP (more commonly known as SleepingDarkness)

I remained in the fetid streets of London all night, completely out of my mind.

Even though I had nowhere to go, I was running through the streets as if the devil were on my heels, constantly running despite my exhaustion and the searing pain in my lungs.

A self-pitying mantra was running through my deranged brain, like a broken record;

_Where is my hope? Where is my love? Where is my reason to live?_

It seemed utterly ridiculous that something so tragic could have forsaken me, just when I felt so contented.

I think it was only when I awoke the next morning; having collapsed on a street corner that the gravity of what had happened hit me. Surprisingly, this shock was what finally brought me to the rational conclusion that there was nothing left for me in London.

It was time for me to return home.

The day after next, I was back on the Isle of Wight.

The strong coastal breeze came whipping off the clear ocean as I lay sprawled across the beach of Shanklin, the great sandstone cliffs hiding the sun from view.

I took a deep breath, enjoying the scratch of salt in my throat.

It seemed strange that after so much had changed in me that this place could still remain the same.

I glanced at my watch, and decided to wait another few minutes before I would leave.

"Welcome back, Miss Catherine! I'm sorry I'm late." A voice from behind me said.

I grinned as Cordelia sat herself in the sand besides me. She had been my parent's maid before they passed away, and she was a bright, friendly woman in her early thirties, with crinkles at the sides of her mouth from smiling often.

They deepened as she grinned, a little apologetically.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"You needn't worry; I was a little late myself." I reassured her "Besides it's been nice to reacquaint myself with the scenery after being away."

She laughed "You were only gone for six months, miss!"

I closed my eyes, and I saw Cain's smiling face "Feels like longer." I breathed.

We discussed all that had happened in Shanklin while I had been away. It didn't seem anything of great interest had occurred, so Cordelia begged me to know what London had been like. I avoided details, focussing on all the gorgeous balls and raucous parties I had attended.

When I asked her to become my maid when I moved back into my parent's house (which I had purchased earlier that day- there hadn't been many takers, so it was easy to overshadow all other offers) she accepted gladly.

"Times have been tough miss, they really have." she shook her head sadly "After your poor parents death, god bless their souls, questions were asked miss, and there haven't been answers yet. Nobody will hire me, since I was so close to them. Probably think I was involved… codswallop, of course, miss…" she added.

It was at that moment that it hit me.

My parents had gone out one night to a dinner party. I had had no interest to join them, so I had stayed home. They were gone for hours; I remember that at ten thirty I got sick of waiting up for them, and went to bed.

The next morning, I was woken at eight when someone came by, and informed me that my parents had been found dead in the early hours of morning.

Freak had killed my parents.

I scolded myself for being so stupid. He wanted to put me in a vulnerable position to make me easier to force into his power- how much more vulnerable could I get?

He hadn't expected me to move in with Jessica though.

But he dealt with her easily enough.

I moved back into my parent's house with Cordelia, and lived a rather untroubled life.

This worried me. I had been certain I would hear something from Freak. What could possibly be going on?

I made enquiries, but of course, no one knew who he was, or had heard of the Bloody Rose Organization. Despite this, I refused to just leave the situation alone.

Months later, I finally found out that he had died of cholera shortly before I returned home. That put a smile on my face for days. What kind of a death was cholera for a manipulative psycho like Freak?

That wasn't' the only reason I smiled though. His death put a kind of full stop in this hectic story, and now I could finally get away from all the chaos and the killing.

But there was a part of that life I did miss.

Cain remained lodged in my mind and heart forever after that night. No matter how badly I might have wanted to, my memories of him always stayed not far from my thoughts.

After months of battling the memories, I decided to use them to my advantage- what little advantage can be gained from heartache.

I wrote a book based off of those tragically blissful months with Cain, writing and writing with such passion that it finished in a six hundred page novel that took years of fine tuning before I sent it to a publisher.

Part of what took years was grappling with the decision of how to end it- should it end happily or tragically? The lie or the truth?

In the end, I opted for the mid-ground; the hero accepts the heroine for all of her evils, but in order to protect him from harm, the heroine has to leave him. I named the novel Angel Street, since that had been the street I had awoken on the night after I had confessed to Cain.

By the time it was published I had just turned twenty-six.

I sat in my living room admiring a copy of the book (which Cordelia had just purchased, running in eagerly so I could sign it- she loved romance novels, and said mine was one of the most heart-warming she had ever read) and thought about the life I had had eight years ago that inspired this. I wondered to myself what Cordelia would think if she knew the true story behind it.

Would she find that as romantic as the fairy-tale version?

The doorbell rang from down the hall, and I frowned to myself. No one ever visited, since my parents death still had several question marks hanging over it. They thought it was a bit dubious that almost instantly afterwards my best friend had also been killed, and a rumour was circulating that I was cursed.

_Though that could be true, considering my history_, I thought bitterly.

"Miss Catherine," Cordelia walked in, a strange look on her face "a man is here to see you."

"Did you ask why?" I asked."

"I did. But he wouldn't say, just insisted on seeing you."

"Did he give you a name?"

"No name either, miss." She shook her head "But he is very odd, very odd indeed."

"How so?"

"Well, his hair is as dark as the devil's heart and… he has the strangest eyes… almost greeny-gold, miss…"

"What?" My voice was flat, and dull. Dead.

"Miss, are you alright?" She frowns in concern. "You've gone dreadfully pale."

"You're sure? That he asked for me, I mean?"

"Oh yes, quite sure. Asked by name and everything. Shall I let him in?"


End file.
